Best Served Cold
by jtav
Summary: No one humiliates Tom Marvolo Riddle. Ever.


_September 1940_

Slughorn's office smelled of chocolate. Tom lingered by the refreshment table and tried not to be too obvious about inhaling the scent. It had been ages since he had eaten a proper dessert. He was only allowed half-a-pound of sweets per month when he lived at the orphanage, and that was growing more expensive by the day. Hogwarts had replaced treacle tart and lemon pudding with carrot cake and apple crumble to show solidarity with the Muggles. That had been Dumbledore's idea. But of course Slughorn didn't care about ration cards or solidarity. He didn't care because his guests certainly didn't.

The most powerful and ambitious wizards in England were mingling here tonight. Not merely the moneyed or those with ancient names like the Potters and the Weasleys. Oh no. Slughorn had not settled for anything less than those who could one day command the destiny of nations. The deputy director for the Department of Experimental Charms was discussing Quidditch with the editor of the _Daily Prophet._ Thaddeus Grippleton, the Curse Breaker who had been responsible for discovering the tomb of the court wizard of Ramses II, was sipping punch in the corner. The manager of Puddlemere United wandered the room in a daze, as if he had been struck in the head with a Bludger.

Not everyone here was famous. Slughorn had invited a dozen of his brightest and most talented Slytherins. Most of them were grasping sixth or seventh years desperately hoping to acquire the right friend to whisper the right words in the right ear to land them the right job. Tom was the youngest of those invited and the only one technically staying out past his curfew to attend this party. Claudius Morgenstern had glared at him and told him he was a "bloody lucky bastard" for Slughorn to think he was so special. Tom had smiled politely and agreed with him. Inwardly, he seethed. Luck had nothing to do with it. He had more power than everyone in this room put together, but no one else knew that yet. Slughorn was merely trying to get in on the ground floor.

Three wizards were huddled together in a nearby corner. The one in the middle wore scarlet silk robes that looked like they cost more than all of Tom's school supplies put together. His blond hair was brushed carefully back from his face, and his gray eyes were shrewd and guarded. Tom recognized him instantly from photographs in the newspaper: Abraxas Malfoy. He was twenty-three and the youngest wizard ever to hold a seat on the Wizengamot. Rumor said that his father had bought him the seat, not that it mattered. Power was power regardless of how it was achieved.

Tom didn't recognize the two wizards flanking him. They wore plain black robes and seemed to fade into the background unless Tom was looking directly at them. All three men were talking in soft voices. Interesting. What could be so fascinating that Malfoy was discussing it instead of socializing with the other guests and so sensitive that he was discussing it in a corner? Tom listened. One never knew when the secrets of the powerful could be useful.

"I can't imagine Dumbledore would be fool enough to accept Grindelwald's challenge," said the man on the right. "Grindelwald is a master duelist, and Dumbledore's only a Transfiguration professor. A brilliant one, to be sure, but still only a teacher."

Tom relaxed and turned away in disappointment. This was no secret. Everyone knew of the remarkable challenge Grindelwald had delivered to Dumbledore last week: defeat him in a fair duel and he would surrender unconditionally. It made no sense. Grindelwald had magical Europe in a stranglehold. Britain was the only country that had not yet submitted to his rule. His forces outnumbered the Aurors and hit wizards four to one. It was only a matter of time before he won the war. Why risk everything for a foolish show of superiority against Dumbledore? Grindelwald had never lost a duel but that didn't mean he was invincible. Dumbledore had been clever enough to frighten Tom. He was more than clever enough to beat Grindelwald.

The man on the left had something of the same idea. "If you ask me, Grindelwald is a sodding idiot for making the challenge in the first place."

Malfoy chuckled. "You're only now discovering this? Grindelwald has the kind of power that's only seen once a century and what does he do with it? He sends his gang of thugs -- sorry, his Emerald Cloaks, must call things by their proper names -- around smashing Muggle windows and setting fire to their automobikes." He sneered. "I'm all for putting Muggles in their place, but such actions are not worthy of wizards."

Tom stared at Malfoy. How could he not understand? Before he could stop himself, he blurted out: "I think it's very shrewd what Grindelwald is doing."

Malfoy whipped his head around and looked at him. He reminded Tom of Mrs. Cole when she asked him about his day and he answered honestly instead of with pleasantries. "Excuse me?"

"Grindelwald wants to rule over the Muggles. There's no better way to keep your subjects in line than to make sure that they are too frightened to attempt to overthrow you."

Malfoy laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "The boy fancies himself a politician! Who are you? You seem awfully young to have an opinion on this sort of thing."

Tom straightened. No one challenged him, not even a Malfoy or a member of the Wizengamot. "My name is Tom Riddle. I'm thirteen, almost fourteen."

"Riddle?" Abraxas scowled. "I don't know anyone by that name, and I know everyone from a family worth knowing. Don't tell me that Muggle-borns," he spat out the word and Tom knew he was thinking _Mudblood,_ "presume to know anything about the proper behavior of wizards."

"I'm not Muggle-born. My father was a wizard. He had to be." The words came out sharper than he meant them to, and several people looked up from their drinks and stared in his direction. It wouldn't be worth the trouble to cause a scene, so Tom forced himself to keep his voice even. "Anyway, I know enough."

"Do you? We'll see about that." He thought for a moment. "Who is the Canadian General Secretary for Magic?"

A strange question, but an easy one. "Claude Griffenhelm. He was appointed two weeks ago."

"So you aren't completely ignorant of current affairs. Good. I'd hate to know Hogwarts had gone completely to seed." He steepled his fingers. "Dueling normally carries a minimum sentence of two years in Azkaban. When is this not true?"

"If the wizard who made the challenge can produce two witnesses that say his family, blood status, magical ability, integrity or personal hygiene were called into question, he is considered to have been provoked and may not be prosecuted. The other one is out of luck."

Malfoy looked genuinely shocked but only for a moment. "Every wizard should know how to legally escape punishment for defending his honor. I would be disappointed if you didn't. Now for the truly difficult questions."

He asked Tom about all manner of subjects: international relations, law, magical theory, Unforgivable Curses ("purely as a hypothetical, naturally"), and history. Tom managed to answer them all. He would not be taken for some Mudblood fool who didn't belong at Hogwarts. A crowd had stopped what they were doing and gathered to watch them. Their eyes darted between Malfoy and Tom as each asked and answered questions. It was as if they were watching a tennis match. Slughorn, looking torn between irritation at having his party disrupted and pride in his star pupil, stood at the front of the impromptu assembly.

"Don't you think this has gone long enough, Abraxas?" he asked.

"Indeed. It's growing late, and I tire of this. But I believe I'm entitled to a final question." He turned back to Tom. "Under what circumstances may magic legally be used in the presence of a Muggle?"

Tom exhaled. That was easy. "Magic may be used in self-defense or to heal injuries that the wizard reasonably believes to be life-threatening. In either case, the Muggle who witnessed the act must be Obliviated immediately afterwards."

"Incorrect." Malfoy's smile was smug. "Witches and wizards who are of age may also freely use magic in front of Muggle immediate relatives. Immediate relatives are defined as parents, siblings, current spouses, and children. I thought everyone knew that."

"Enough." Slughorn emerged from the crowd and placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. "That was badly done of you, Abraxas. You cannot expect a third year to be fully conversant with the nuances of magical law, no matter how brilliant the boy is."

Most of the others agreed with him that it was "badly done" of Abraxas. They gave Tom sympathetic looks, and he heard an elderly witch whisper, "How dare Brax treat a child like that." Tom felt something cold and hard lodge in his chest. Abraxas Malfoy had made him an object of pity, and only the weak were pitied. Malfoy had made him appear weak. He must pay for that. Tom wanted to murder him, but that would not do. The punishment must fit the crime. He would find out what Malfoy loved most and pervert it, twist it into something he despised. He would torment Malfoy with his creation. He would destroy him as surely as if he had murdered him.

"Are you all right?" Slughorn asked softly.

"I'm fine, sir." And he was. He would have his revenge. It might take years, but Mrs. Cole always said patience was a virtue.

_August 1974_

The scent of singed flesh filled Voldemort's nostrils, sweet as a burnt offering to the gods. The boy did not cry out as he received the Dark Mark. Perhaps he was not as soft and pampered as he appeared. He might even prove useful eventually. "Rise, Lucius Malfoy, and take your place among your brethren."

Lucius rose shakily to his feet and rolled down his sleeve. "Thank you, my Lord."

"It is customary to bow to your betters."

Lucius' eyes went wide with panic and he bowed hastily. "Forgive me."

He had been a Death Eater for less than a minute, and he had already learned fear. Excellent. But Voldemort was a merciful master. He would not torture Lucius. Not physically. Not tonight. "As it happens, I have a task for you. Consider it a penance."

No one said a word, but he could feel the surprise and envy emanating from the others. Bellatrix must be seething that her cousin had already received a mission when she had been forced to wait months. Perhaps that would inspire her to strive even further to impress her master. "I want you to go to the nearest Muggle town, walk along a residential street, and break all the windows of every house you pass. When you are finished, you may have the honor of firing my Mark into the sky."

"My Lord, isn't that a bit…petty for wizards of our station? It seems like something a child throwing a temper tantrum would do."

Voldemort twirled his wand between his fingers. "Do you presume to question my judgment?"

"No, my Lord! I will leave straight away!" Lucius donned his mask and drew his wand, preparing to Apparate.

"One question before you depart: who is the Canadian General Secretary for Magic?"

It was a long moment before Lucius spoke again. "I do not know."

Voldemort smiled slightly. "We can't have that. Your father would be so disappointed in you."


End file.
